


Dark Roads and White Roses

by openmouthwideeye



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 3x06, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmouthwideeye/pseuds/openmouthwideeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Caryl oneshots and prompt fills from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Rellie, who kindly heeded my call for prompts.

“Ain’t you done yet?”

Hershel ignored the question, used to second-guessing while he worked. Carol moved her head sluggishly, craning under the overhang of the bunk to muster a tired smile that unwound the knots in Daryl’s shoulders - for all of about two seconds. He rocked back on his heels, edging forward again as Carol dipped out of sight.

“She need water or something?” He tucked his fingers under his arms and mentally tallied the distance to the closest water source. They’d stored some supplies in one of the cells. He could be there and back before Hershel could find his feet. His arms dropped, hands scrubbing across the rough fabric of his pants. “Got some a few cells down.”

His feet shuffled forward, the wrong direction.

“She’s dehydrated,” Hershel said, turning Carol’s arm to check for scratches. Daryl figured he should’ve done that, but . . . two days locked in solitary by herself? Carol was fine.

Fine.

It was harder than it should’ve been, fighting the smile off his face.

“I’mma - ”

He was halfway to the door before Hershel stopped him, firmly shaking his head as he pulled himself up by the low top bunk. Carol swayed, unbalanced by the shifting mattress, and Daryl had an arm around her before Hershel was fully off the bed. She dipped into him, sinking closer for all of two breaths before sighing into his collar and pulling away with a determined wince.

Daryl let his arm fall, fingers picking at a hole at his knee.

“No,” Hershel said. “Not yet.”  He flattened a hand against the wall, balancing himself as he hopped the few feet to the small table. “She needs to rehydrate, but slowly. Otherwise she won’t hold it down.”

Daryl nodded, nibbling at his thumb as he eyed Carol to make sure she wasn’t in danger of falling over. It’d been a long time since he’d been dehydrated, but the feeling wasn’t anything he was like to forget. Upchucked a whole rabbit after guzzling a canteen of water when he finally found a clear stream.

“You ain’t checked her ribs yet,” Daryl muttered, seeking a reassuring smile and an unsolicited eye roll from the woman in question before easing off the bed, making for the dingy metal table and their sorry stock of medical supplies. He looked over Hershel’s shoulder as the vet rifled through his bag, pulling out a stack of half-folded shirts and setting them on the table, out of the way. “She took one of ‘em down,” he added, glancing back at Carol as Hershel pulled out his Bible, absentmindedly smoothing the worn cover as he set the old book on top of the stack. “Them things bigger ‘n stronger than her, but she took one down.”

More than one, if he’d read that hallway right.

“Here.” Hershel pulled what was probably once a washrag out of the bag, pushing it towards Daryl’s fidgeting hands. He jerked them back on instinct, but Hershel grabbed a mostly empty water bottle off the small table and pressed them both at him. “Wash off the blood before that head wound gets infected.”

Daryl twisted the bit of cloth around his fingers. The bump under her hair probably hurt like hell, but it was shallow enough that the blood had dried in rusty rivulets down her temple. The grime that streaked her face could’ve hidden any mess of tender flesh and bruised skin.

“I don’t - She might - ”

“I can hear you, you know,” Carol murmured. When Daryl glanced back over his shoulder, she was smiling.

“Just do it.” Hershel insisted, hopping back to the bed and settling in to press firm fingers into Carol’s ribs.

She winced.

“Where does it hurt?” Hershel asked, nudging a spot on her chest.

“I’m fine,” she assured. Her voice cracked, giving the lie. “Lower right side,” she amended, grimacing again as Hershel continued to prod her, fingers moving to her short ribs.

Daryl loosed the fabric in his fingers, uncapping the bottle to splash water onto the fibers. It soaked in slowly; water dribbled down his wrist to drip onto the floor.

“They’re just bruised,” Carol murmured to Hershel as he pulled up a corner of her dirty pink top, reading the discoloration on her skin. “I got off easy.”

“How’d you - ” Daryl started, but his mouth ran off on him when he moved closer to press the cloth to her temple. Her breath hitched, jaw flexing, but the eyes she flicked up at him were clear and blue. Bright and alive beneath the grime and mud.

His free hand tripped along the seam on his leg, mimicking the familiar motion of checking a taut snare.

“I picked up a few things, following you around those woods all winter.” Her voice was rough and airy, just left of wry.

“Stop,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say.

He kept his elbow high, out of the way as he dabbed at her wound. Her left eye scrunched up as a dangling string snagged her lashes, so Daryl hiked up the extra cloth with his last two fingers, balling it up in his grip.

He waited while Hershel struggled to his feet again, pressing one hand in the dip of Carol’s ribs and the other flat against her back.

“Breathe in for me,” he instructed, leaning around to watch her back rise and fall with the motion. She did, shakily, and then again, more strongly. Hershel nodded, repositioning his hands, and Carol complied again without him asking.

“What happened?” Daryl asked, tilting her chin with the tips of his fingers to wipe a smear of dust from under her eye. Fuck, he sounded like he’d smoked two packs that morning.

She reached up and caught his wrist, like she knew somehow that he was pissing himself for fear of hurting her.

I’m fine, her soft grip murmured to the thrum of blood beneath his skin. I’m fine, the pulse in her neck echoed when he shifted his fingers down, hungry for reassurance.

“T - ” she began hoarsely after a minute, looking up at Daryl as her fingers tightened on his arm. Her eyes were too bright, shining in the dim light of the cell.

“I know,” he grunted. “Found him.” Or what was left.

She nodded. Swallowed. Dropped her fingers back to her lap and stared down at them, reading the story in the grooves of her palm.

“I had a knife.” She pushed through the waver in her voice, making the statement strong.

“Found that, too.”

He folded the rag, trading hands to wipe it firmly across a dark streak above her right cheek. He cupped her neck on the other side, half convinced that the pressure would knock her right over without the extra support.

“We made it into the lower levels, looking for a passage through. T was already bit and - ” she stopped, shuddered, and he smoothed a thumb behind her ear before he thought twice about it. “I’m alive because of him.” Her voice - all smiles and tears - was strangely at odds with the weariness on her face.

“Deserves a fuckin’ Medal of Honor.” He ever found one, he’d stick it right there on the man’s grave.

Hershel shifted Carol around again, apparently finished with her ribs.

“I’ll have that water now,” he told Daryl.

Daryl paused, looking down at Carol’s battered face - a testament to her will to survive. She met his gaze, all watery eyes and unwavering spirit. A swell of pride and relief rushed through him, everything he’d been too stunned to feel in full when he opened that door expecting walker and found Carol half dead on the floor.

He dropped the wet rag to the bed and took a step back.

“In my bag,” Hershel advised. “Bottom corner.”

Daryl found it and handed it over, scrubbing his palms across his pants as he watched the man guide Carol through slow, cautious sips. Pent up energy trickled through his veins, gathering beneath his ribcage to pump into his chest.

Hershel pulled the bottle away from Carol’s lips and she pushed herself backward to slump against the wall, eyes fluttering closed. Daryl’s blood buzzed like Merle’d just lit up in the armchair, paying no mind to the secondhand skag curling lazily around their shitty, cramped apartment.

“You should rest,” Hershel advised, reaching over before Daryl could think it to work the bunk’s flat pillow between Carol and the wall. “Regain your strength.”

“She’ll need water every thirty minutes to an hour,” he said to Daryl. “Any more and she might overhydrate.”

Daryl nodded, working his hands up under his arms to stop his fingers from twitching. Carol opened her eyes and smiled up at him, gratitude overwhelming the weary edge of pain, and he felt his whole face shift higher as he smiled back.

A noise echoed through the cellblock, the clank of doors and weapons and shuffling feet.

“That’ll be Rick,” Hershel murmured. “He’ll be needing us.”

Carol shifted higher - like she could make herself better through sheer force of will before the messenger could climb the stairs. Carl poked his head through the door not five seconds later. He glanced from Hershel to Carol, frowning a little before turning to Daryl.

“My dad needs you.”

“I’ll get Bethie,” Hershel offered, snagging his crutches from the corner and maneuvering to his feet. “You alright for a moment?” he asked Carol as Carl ducked down the hall, high tailing it back to whatever was happening in the main block.

She waved him away. “I’m fine. Go on.”

Hershel nodded, pressing the back of his hand to Carol’s forehead once more before he was satisfied. Daryl lingered by the edge of the bed as Hershel left, dirty hunting boots shifting on the dusty concrete.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Carol pursed her lips, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Want me to make room? We could cuddle.” She shifted all of an inch, too tired to play the joke to its end, but her eyes laughed all the same.

Daryl shuffled back, chewing his lip. It irritated him how quickly she could fluster him without even trying. He felt like a damned fool around her, half the time.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he said, ignoring the heat creeping up his collar. “You need anything, holler.”

“Hershel said thirty,” she reminded, settling back against the pillow. “And Beth is coming. Rick’s going to need you to - ”

Daryl shook his head. “I’ll be back in twenty.”

He caught sight of a blanket falling half onto the floor and snatched it up, hating how insubstantial it felt when he tucked one end up over her shoulder. He ignored Carol’s eyes on him as he draped the rest of it across her, curling the edges around her waist.

“Thank you,” she murmured when he stepped back, stopping to make sure she was comfortable. She nodded faintly, eyes slipping closed, and Daryl stood there awkwardly, listening to her breath even out until he decided that he really should go and figure out what Rick needed.

He passed Beth on his way out the door, Lil’ Asskicker snug in her arms. He nodded his thanks and she smiled back, but he couldn’t quite make himself leave. He watched from his periphery as Beth took up the chair by the bed, leaning close to cradle Carol’s hand in her own. Carol didn’t rouse, but her fingers tightened in the girl’s grip.

Daryl pushed off down the hallway, following the voices to the mess that waited below. Whatever it was, they’d work it out. They had to.

The prison was feeling a lot more like home, all of a sudden.


	2. Part of the Package (Post-Coda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the first step in healing is allowing yourself to be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt _naked cuddle_. Sorry, dear anon. I am 134% certain this is not remotely what you had in mind.
> 
> **Post Coda.**

He worked the buttons as fast as he could, trying to figure how much he wished Michonne’d been the one to catch Carol struggling, ‘stead of him. A hundred percent and not at all, depending on the breath.

“Daryl.” Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes, catching in a dip of skin and disappearing into her hairline. Her cheeks were wet; she didn’t try to hide it. All he could think was that was another damn thing he missed, something he coulda fixed.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for, her hurting or Beth not. Him not being there for either damn one of ‘em.

He didn’t know what she was crying for, and that made his hands work faster. Something stung at his eyes, something best left alone.

“Daryl,” Carol protested, fingers digging into his arm as he tugged her shirt off one shoulder, hardly looking until he felt it catch her elbow. Another tear leaked from the corner of her eye; another plea reverberated in her throat. He stilled, glancing from his hand on her shoulder to the one fisted in fabric at the small of her back.

“I can’t do it without hurting ya.” He met her eyes, clear blue above the shining on her cheeks, and felt something in him fracture. “I can’t.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, a skittish murmur that might slip into a sob. Her fingers pushed toward his elbows until she’d cupped them in her palms, pulling them into her delicate ribs.

Daryl didn’t move, didn’t breathe as her hands shifted his off her shoulder and down her back, meeting the other one in the middle. A fist of fabric slid up her hip as his snared fingers traversed her spine, but Carol didn’t seem to care. She leaned forward, slow enough for him to catch her weight, then dipped sideways on the bed, her head tucking into the sweaty fabric of his collar as held her steady.

_When you love someone_ , Beth sang in his mind, like a flock of birds bursting into open air, _hurt’s part of the package_.

Carol seemed stuck to him all over: the inside of her arms smooth against the back of his, her cheek drying tear tracks high on his chest, a thin triangle of her skin pressed where his shirt had lost its bottom button. He catalogued rough scabs and hot bruises like animal markings on a tree, a whole story in ridges and divots and patches rubbed clean.

Soft words burrowed beneath his breastbone, taking root somewhere deep. “I’m not asking you to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness, these two. I've spent so long reveling in ~all the character development that I never realized how hard it is to fic them. Their behavior patterns change drastically from season to season. I had to rewatch 3x06 in its entirety to make sure I captured at least some smidgen of S3 Caryl. 
> 
> Yes, yes, it was very difficult. Only for you, readers. Only for you.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of my first ever Caryl fic!111!!11! *derp*


End file.
